


Following Footsteps

by kaijoskopycat



Series: Cheats and Cons [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Falling In Love, Fights, Flirting, Guns, Mafia AU, Otabek is a badass, Police, Russian Mafia, Secret Identity, Undercover, Violence, Yuri is a badass, mafia!otabek, more tags will be added as they come to mind, policeman!yuri
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2018-11-16 10:14:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11251053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaijoskopycat/pseuds/kaijoskopycat
Summary: Yuri Plisetsky isexcited. Viktor finally sees him as worthy of more than just desk work and observation and he plans to prove that Viktor's reign as most notable officer on the police force will swiftly come to an end. He just has to make it out of the Russian Mafia Alive





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [Turn a Blind Eye](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10540206/chapters/23273793) that was based on the artwork by [drawverylittle](http://drawverylittle.tumblr.com/) <3
> 
> I wanted to write Yuri's experiences as Turn a Blind Eye progresses because very little of it will be shown in the Viktuuri half of this series. Yuri is too strong a personality and he deserves his own story. :D
> 
> This will be similar to Turn a Blind Eye. The chapter will be shorter and will be posted a the Viktuuri half progresses. Hope you all enjoy!

He still can't believe it. 

Viktor had asked _him_ to go undercover. Viktor had asked _him_ to take possibly one of the most dangerous, _thrilling_ jobs. Viktor had chosen _him_.

_“I need you to become a member of the Russian mafia.”_

Yuri is still grinning as he throws a blazer over the loose, silk, leopard printed top. After all these months of paperwork, of sitting in the back of Viktor’s car “observing”, he’s finally able to go out in the field and do what he signed up to do. He can finally make a difference.

Realistically he knows why Viktor chose him over everyone else. He knows that his parentage, his father’s stint with the mafia, his _name_ will give him an in that no one else would have. But he knows Viktor would've looked past that if he didn't think Yuri was capable. Viktor doesn't halfass anything. Viktor doesn't take shortcuts.

And knowing that feels _damn good_.

He checks his reflection in the mirror one last time, decides he doesn't give a shit what anyone thinks about his appearance, and heads out the door.

It’s ironic, really, how Yuri’s choice of apartment (much to Viktor’s dismay) is only a block and half away from the one bar that is commonly known as a mafia meet up. _Shavetail Tavern_ has never been tainted by crime, bloody or otherwise, but police surveillance has confirmed the frequent mafia attention it gets. They can't make a move on the place until they have concrete proof, but it doesn't stop them from hoping. And it doesn't stop Yuri from heading there right now.

He figures if he wants to start somewhere, _Shavetail_ is the best place to start.

When he enters, he doesn't expect a small, cozy-looking bar covered in military memorabilia. A Russian military uniform hangs on the wall by the door, one sleeve bent up, the wrist gesturing toward the door as if pointing out the exit. Various army helmets line the shelf above the bar, above the numerous bottles of alcohol that depict a distorted reflection of Yuri’s surprised face back at him.

He glances at the pictures as he passes. Images of platoons, teams of men who unwittingly smile straight to their death. Yuri remembers smiling as Viktor gave him this assignment. He scowls at the pictures before turning away. Like hell he’ll let himself end up like those grinning idiots.

When he glances across the bar he notices that the bartender is watching him. His deep, brown eyes follow him as he takes slow steps forward. His forearms are exposed by the way he’s rolled up the sleeves of his button down. Yuri’s eyes flicker to the way the muscle cords beneath the skin before scrolling back up, past the broad chest, the broad shoulders to that defined face. The undercut he’s sporting shouldn't look so good on him, but it makes the hair on the top of his head fall into his face perfectly as he polishes a glass.

“Something I can get you?”

Yuri slides into a seat at the bar and scans the bottles behind the bartender.

“Vodka,” he says.

“With?”

“Just Vodka.”

“Over ice?” The man’s lips twitch as he mouths Yuri’s response along with him.

“Just vodka.”

The bartender turns away from him, snatching a bottle from under the bar and pouring Yuri a generous serving and slides the glass toward him.

“On the house,” the man tells him, picking up another glass to resume his cleaning.

Yuri’s eyes narrow. He lifts the glass, swirling the liquid inside.

The bartender peers at him through the strands of hair that hang across his eyes. “It’s not poison,” the man says, his deep voice startling Yuri. “I’d be put out of business if was poisoning my customers.”

“Tch,” Yuri scowls and takes too large a sip. “Like I’d be stupid enough to think that.” He won't admit that the thought had crossed his mind. “Don't know why the fuck you’d give it to me free though.”

“Mm,” the man inclines his head and places the glass on the small ledge beneath the bar in front of him. “I haven't seen you in here before. But I have a pretty good feeling you're here for something and I'm betting I'll see you again.”

“How can you be so damn sure I’ve never been here?”

The man nods toward entrance. “I remember everyone who comes through that door.” His eyes flicker back to Yuri. “And I would never forget a face like yours.”

Yuri feels heat rush to his cheeks and he decides to blame it on the alcohol. There’s no way he’s blushing. He's here to play the role of a tough-skinned mafia member. Not some flustered school boy.

“You don't know a damn thing about me,” he growls, downing the rest of his drink in one gulp.

“Otabek Altin,” the man introduces himself, extending a hand toward Yuri. “How about you tell me why you're here?”

Yuri stares at Otabek’s hand, at the unwavering way he stares. At his forearms, which look more impressive than Yuri wants to admit. He grabs Otabek’s hand and squeezes.

“I'm here to be a part of something…” His lips twitch into a smirk. “Yuri… Plisetsky.”

Otabek jerks his hand back like Yuri burned him. He blinks, taking in Yuri’s face again. His eyes flicker to the wall behind Yuri’s head, but Yuri resists the urge to turn around to see what catches his eye.

“You…” Otabek’s eyes narrow. “You're The Pentagon’s son?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Otabek offers Yuri a way to slip into the mafia, a way that won't arouse suspicion. No one would think he's an undercover agent because he has quite literally a perfect cover. Viktor won't like what it takes to get in, but Yuri is never one to back down from a challenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the time between postings and hope you enjoy!!

Yuri shrugs and tips back on his barstool, just far enough to look smug, but not far enough to fall off. “Dear ol’ daddy never shared his nickname with me, but i’ve heard my fair share of stories to make an educated guess.” He nods. 

Otabek’s eyes narrow. “And what does the son of The Pentagon hope to find in a place like this?”

Yuri has rehearsed this in the mirror numerous times before coming here. He’s almost afraid to say the words. Afraid that the truth in them might be more evident than he wants it to be. 

“Maybe I'm looking for a family.”

He didn't have to practice the defiant stare. Defiance came naturally to him. Always going against his grandfather’s wishes, his mother when she had deemed him worthy of her time, Yakov when he told him he wouldn't be the right fit for the police force. Only Viktor had stared right back, grinned and gave him what he really wanted.

Only Viktor until Otabek. 

“You don't know what you're asking for,” Otabek says. He gently places the glass on the counter and drops both hands beneath the bar top.

_Gun_ , Yuri’s instinct scream. They scream even louder when he ignores the warning. 

“I think I know exactly what I'm fucking asking for,” he says, his voice level as he rips forward. His elbow dig uncomfortably into the hard bar top. “I know what goes on here. I'm not fucking stupid. I could put two and two together when my father would leave for _Shavetail_ every evening after work.”

_“Gotta drown the blood in alcohol, Yuratchka.”_

Now he understands. Back then Yuri had always thought that it was a statement of his father’s alcoholism, the excuse his mother would use for his absence in his life. She would tell him how blood never ran through his father's veins. It was all alcohol, she had said. But he wasn't drinking for the love of it. He was drinking to drown out the sight of permanent blood on his hands. 

Andrei Plisetsky was a killer in occupation only because he fell too deep into a world he never should've stepped foot into. Like quicksand, his only release from the pull was his death. 

“You won't get in,” Otabek finally says. He pulls his hands away from the bar and crosses his arms over his chest. “Things aren't the same now as they were when The Pentagon was still alive.” His eyes roam over Yuri’s body, deadpan and shameless. “You don't have your father’s build to help back your claim to his position.”

Yuri’s eyes narrowed. “I never said--”

“You want in,” Otabek presses his palms flat against the bar top and leans toward Yuri. “You petition in asking for your father’s position as one of the greatest barriers and hitmen the Russian mafia ever enlisted.” 

Yuri swallows. 

“We’re under… new management,” Otabek tells him. He cocks his head toward a door behind the bar. It melts in with the walls, visible, but just barely. Yuri hadn't noticed it was there. “They won't accept a punk looking to use their name as bragging material.”

Yuri lunges forward, snatching at the collar of Otabek’s shirt. To his surprise (which he hides well), Otabek doesn't even flinch. “I'm not some punk, dammit,” he snarls, his face inches away from Otabek’s. “I'm not interested in wearing a mafia title like a badge of honor. I don't give a flying rat’s ass what anyone thinks about me or what I choose to do with my life.” 

He releases Otabek with a shove, satisfied with the step back Otabek is forced to take from the strength. He tips back into his bar chair and regards Otabek with a cool, challenging stare. “I'm here to finish what my old man started. And I'm here to do a damn better job than his sorry ass did.”

Otabek’s lips twitch. He eyes Yuri’s confident posture, the scowl on his face, the determined set of his eyes that he knows he’s exuding. “Fine.” Otabek’s voice is low, thick with something that makes Yuri want to think he’s impressed. “You come back next Monday. Don't bring a weapon.” His eyes flicker to Yuri’s boots, up to his thigh and then to his arm, pinpointing the exact location of every self-defense prepared knife he strapped to his body. 

“You fight on our terms,” Otabek lifts his shoulders in a shrug and grabs an empty glass from behind the bar. He fills it with vodka and slides it to Yuri. “Or you die.”

Yuri grabs the glass without hesitation. This isn't what Viktor had intended for him. He knows it. Taking after his father’s job… Viktor would tell him no. But Yuri would be damned if he walked out of here and never returned. He’d die before he’d ever swallow his pride and take the easy way out. 

With a smirk he lifts his glass and tips it back. Otabek’s faint smile in return makes the burn in his throat worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've said this in Turn a Blind Eye, the Viktuuri Mafia story, and I'll say it here too. There's gonna be a lot of me apologizing for delays in posting. I promise neither one of these has fallen off my radar. Writing has been a challenge for me because of things going on in my life, but I am so grateful for all those who continue to follow both fics and those who are patient and enjoy what I'm trying to bring to life here. Your enthusiasm keeps me going and I can only say I'm sorry for the delays and hope that I can keep up with these as best as I can. 
> 
> Thank you to all you wonderful people. Gold stars and cookies all around!!


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